


Confessions of a Lost Girl

by DangersUntoldHardshipsUnnumbered



Category: Warrior Nun (TV)
Genre: AU, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:20:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26386279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangersUntoldHardshipsUnnumbered/pseuds/DangersUntoldHardshipsUnnumbered
Summary: Beatrice is a young Yupik woman in Alaska who doesn't quite fit in the village she grew up in but doesn't quite fit with the outside world, either. Ava is an army photojournalist staying at the nearby base who gets caught out in a blizzard and gets rescued by Beatrice and her sled dogs, Camila, Lilith and Mary.Or, the bed sharing AU that got completely out of hand.
Relationships: Sister Beatrice/Ava Silva
Comments: 289
Kudos: 512





	1. Chapter 1

Beatrice has just thrown another log on the fire. It pops and crackles a brief protest before splitting from the heat, and settling into a nice, slow burn. The orange glow from the fireplace fills the cabin. The snow has just started coming down, only a few minutes ago, but it already blankets the pines and is so thick in the air that Beatrice can’t see much beyond the enclosed porch. That’s fine. She’s ready. She has a stack of philosophy books and a flaming hearth. What more could she need? 

The dogs are usually good company during the worst weather, and Camila comes prancing over and licks Beatrice’s hand, head-butts her leg gently in that way that says she would like a scratch behind the ears. Beatrice obliges. “Alright, good girl,” she murmurs absently, looking at her pile of books and trying to choose between Sartre and Rousseau. After a moment, she chooses Rousseau, and settles into the big stuffed chair closest to the fireplace, reading. His confessions are a favorite, and she’s decided it’s time to revisit them. 

_ “My passions, when roused, are intense, and, so long as I am activated by them, nothing equals my impetuosity. I no longer know moderation, respect, fear, propriety; I am cynical, brazen, violent, fearless; no sense of shame deters me, no danger alarms me. Except for the object of my passion, the whole world is as nothing to me; but this only lasts for a moment, and the next I am plunged into utter dejection…” _

Mary, the biggest of the three sled dogs, is on her hind legs, her paws up against the window. She barks once, a low, gruff little sound, as if she doesn’t want to quite commit to making a racket. Beatrice glances up. “Yes, Mary, it’s snowing quite hard.” 

Lilith, the third and most temperamental of the three, paces back and forth behind Mary. She keeps rocking up onto her hind legs for a moment, trying to peer around Mary. Her ears are pricked all the way up. 

Beatrice frowns. “What is it with you two?” 

But now Camila is scratching at the cabin door, looking back dolefully at Beatrice now and again. 

Beatrice gets up and walks to the window. She peers out, and listens. She isn’t sure she really hears anything, but she looks at the dogs, and they are all in a state of agitation, their ears pricked up and their tails wagging furiously. She sighs. She had mentally committed herself to being indoors for several days, and isn’t excited at the prospect, but the dogs’ behavior has her convinced she ought to take the sled out and just be sure. She’d hate to know that someone got caught out there and died if she could have done something about it. 

“Alright, girls. Let’s check.” 

Night in Alaska in the winter can be endless, days more dusk than daylight, and it is the peak of winter as Beatrice swaddles herself in thermal gear, and a heavy coat and hat, weatherproof gloves. She steps out onto the enclosed porch and straps on snowshoes, looking dubiously into the worsening blizzard. The sky is black and starless, and the snow seems to be descending from nowhere. The winds bite at her nose, so she wraps her scarf around her face, hitches the dogs to her sled, and holds onto the tracers with one hand as they dash off into the night, following the beam of the portable floodlight she holds in her other hand.

If anyone is out there, she hopes they find them quickly, or they won’t be found at all. 

Beatrice’s cabin is at the edge of the wildlife preserve. It wouldn’t be the first time that idiots from the nearby army base got lost in those trees during bad weather. Overconfident, brash outsiders, so sure they could handle whatever came their way because their fathers took them camping a couple of times. She hopes that they’re in good enough shape to tolerate the lecture she already feels like giving them. Warnings about this blizzard have been coming for days. 

The sled is almost soundless as it whips over the snow; so it isn’t very long before Beatrice can hear what the dogs heard. Someone, a woman, is calling for help. 

Beatrice holds steady as the dogs follow the calls, heading deeper into the preserve where it turns to puddly marsh in the warmer weather. No animal in its right mind is out and about right now. But humans. Beatrice sighs. Humans just have to be  _ like that. _

The dogs follow the cries, barking all the way. 

“Hang on!” Beatrice calls, when she thinks they’re close enough that the woman will hear her. “Hang on, we’re coming!”

“I’m down here!” 

“I know! We’re coming!”

Beatrice squints through the large, wet flakes as they continue to fall, and tries to ignore the wind picking up. She trains the beam of her large light around, until she can see her; at the bottom of a shallow embankment, down near the reservoir, which is now filling rapidly with snow. She groans. 

The dogs pull to a stop. Beatrice gets off the sled and shines the light down at the woman. She’s young. Younger than Beatrice. “What are you doing out in a  _ pirta _ ?” The Yupik have a multitude of words for snow, but this one best describes battering snowfall they are experiencing, a veritable blizzard. 

“I didn’t know it would get so bad so fast!”

“Can you still move your hands? If I throw you a rope, can you tie it around yourself?” 

“I think so?” 

Beatrice takes a coil of rope from the sled and tosses it down to the girl, who is so coated with snow that even with the floodlight trained right on her, Beatrice has trouble determining if her jacket is indeed army green. She suspects it is. Locals know better.

The girl is shivering, fumbling, and so after a moment, Beatrice sighs, pulls it up, and then ties a loose noose, and tosses it back down. “Here, just put it over your head and get it around your waist, it’ll pull tight when the dogs and I start pulling.” 

So the girl does as she’s told, and Beatrice and the dogs, in total defiance of weather and gravity, pull her out of the embankment. It’s then that she notices the camera hanging around the girl’s neck. “Please, don’t tell me you were out here taking photographs or so help me God, I will push you right back in and leave you there.” 

The girl stands there shivering and says nothing. 

Beatrice shakes her head, loads her into the sled, and puts a thick, wool blanket over her. She could be worse off, at least she’s wearing army issue gear, which is thick and heavy, and some waterproof boots. The dogs are exhausted by the time they pull them back to the cabin, which by now is looking more inviting than it ever has. The warm light glows from the windows. She quickly unhitches the dogs, and they go prancing inside. 

The girl has to be helped up the two small steps. She’s shaking violently and a little uncoordinated. If she’s lucky, she’s not frostbitten. “What’s your name?” she asks, ushering her inside. 

“Ava.” 

“Well, Ava, we’re about to get to know one another quite well, because nobody’s going anywhere for at least a couple of days. I sincerely hope you’re not an idiot.”


	2. Chapter 2

The girl goes semi-conscious the moment Beatrice gets her inside. “Oh, fire,” she says happily, and then almost collapses on the floor. Beatrice catches her, and lowers her onto the thick elk rug in front of the fireplace. She takes a moment to seal up the doors, toss another small log onto the flames, and then looks at this Ava, trying to determine what to do with her. 

She’s caked with rapidly melting snow from head to foot, so Beatrice gets about the business of removing her boots, and then her coat. Her trousers are similarly a disaster, but Beatrice hesitates. She jostles Ava’s shoulder gently. “Hey. Ava. Wake up. You’ve got to take your pants off.” 

Ava doesn’t open her eyes. “Hm, that’s what she said,” she mumbles. 

Beatrice rolls her eyes. “Come on. They’re cold and damp. You look close enough to my size, I think I’ve got some you can borrow for now.” 

Ava mumbles something else that Beatrice can’t make out. 

She sighs, and unbuttons the slush-covered trousers and with a little bit of struggle, pulls them off her. Once she’s gotten her down to her underwear and a green tank top, Beatrice pauses for a moment. She’s pretty. A little too pretty. Camila pads over and starts licking Ava’s face. 

“Hey, shouldn’t you buy me a drink first?” Ava says, still clearly half-asleep.

“That’s Camila, one of my dogs. I hope you like dogs.” 

Ava’s eyes snap open, and she’s face to face with Camila, who seems instantly happy to see her. Lilith and Mary are cuddling in the corner, and Beatrice could swear that Lilith is giving Camila some side eye over her easy acceptance of the newcomer. “Hi, Camila,” Ava chuckles, “I guess you won’t be buying me a drink, then, since you’re a dog.” 

Beatrice finds a dry, clean blanket and throws it over Ava. “Coffee, tea or hot chocolate?” 

Ava sits up a little bit and pulls the blanket around herself. “Hot chocolate, thanks.” 

Beatrice puts a kettle on and disappears into her room to get out some sweatpants and a soft, thick wool sweater for Ava to borrow. Ava gratefully accepts them, and gets up, and slides into them without much effort. Beatrice notices a scar on her back. Out of politeness, she doesn’t ask what it was from. They coexist in silence while the kettle heats up and Ava wraps herself in the blanket again, sitting in front of the fire with eyes closed, drawing its warmth.

Beatrice picks up Ava’s sodden jacket and sees the name stitched on it: Spc. A. Silva. 

“Specialist Silva,” she comments. “What exactly are you a specialist of?” 

Ava smirks over her shoulder. “Getting into life threatening situations, apparently.” 

Beatrice lifts an eyebrow at her. “Have you got many medals for that?” 

“If they gave out medals for that, I’d be a four star general.” 

Beatrice can’t help it. She smiles a little at that. 

“No really, I work for the Stars & Stripes. The Army newspaper? I’m here covering the history of Japan trying to send spies over here in balloons during World War II.” 

“Really? That was a thing? I never heard of it.” 

“Oh yeah. It wasn’t well known, and not a lot has been written about it, so since it’s the anniversary of the founding of the base, they wanted to do some bits about the history and stuff.” 

_ So, not entirely stupid, just reckless. _ Beatrice thinks she can work with that. 

The kettle whistles, so Beatrice pours two cups of hot water and mixes in the cocoa from packets. After stirring them up, she digs out a bag of marshmallows and drops one big one in each cup. She comes over, hands one cup to Ava, and sits down near her on the rug. 

Camila is curled up in a little furry coil on the floor between them. Ava scratches her tummy and appreciatively takes a sip of the hot cocoa. “Thanks,” she says. She catches Beatrice’s eye and adds more meaningfully, “For everything. Um, I apologize if you told me your name, but I wasn’t in such good shape when I got here…”

“Beatrice.” 

Ava lifts her cup in a toasting gesture toward her. “Well, Beatrice, I’m sorry to have made myself a burden, but thank you. You have a lovely, lovely cabin.” She scratches Camila some more, and smiles. “And your doggy is a sweetheart.” 

“Oh, yes. Camila loves everyone.” 

As if on cue, Mary barks in their direction. Just once. 

“Is she ok?” 

Beatrice nods. “Oh yes. Just reminding you not to get out of line.” 

Ava grins. “I’ll be good.” 

There is too much mischief in her smile.  _ We’ll be shut up in here for a while,  _ Beatrice thinks, and immediately scolds herself.

“Are you feeling better?” 

“Yeah. I’m still… I don’t know. A little cold, on the inside, if that makes sense?” 

“That’s likely to linger for a bit.” 

A quiet falls. Ava looks around: the split-log walls, the stone hearth, the floors laid plank by plank and sanded and stained by hand. The gun rack with two shotguns, the woven tapestry on the wall. Her eyes settle on the wooden mask that grins down at them from above the mantle, a long, slim fish darting down the middle of its face. “Who’s that guy?” 

“That’s a mask.” 

“I figured. But of who? Or what?” 

“His meaning is a secret. I made him for a dance one winter, and I can’t wear him anymore, but I kept him.” 

Ava looks intrigued, now. “So, what do you do with him?”   


“Masks for the Yupik aren’t for hiding your face. They’re for showing you another point of view.” Beatrice feels a little uncomfortable, now. Whenever outsiders want to know about the spiritual practices of the Yupik, she withdraws. The last thing she wants is to be stuck in here for two days with a white girl who wants to fetishize every last bit of her connection with the metaphysical. 

But Ava is just thinking. Curious. “You can’t wear him anymore, but you keep him anyway?” 

“To remember what he showed me.” 

“What did he show you?” 

Beatrice doesn’t want to say. 

She likes her quiet life, she likes living here in a cabin she built with her own hands, she’s content with her dogs and her books and hunting and trapping and curing things for the long winters. She likes her solitude.

Ava seems to finally realize she’s treading someplace that has made Beatrice feel awkward. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be pushy. I… I take it back, you don’t have to tell me.” 

Beatrice doesn’t want to think about what the mask showed her on that winter night when she danced, and the drums spoke inside her chest; that she was going to have to let someone in. She offers a gentle, faint smile. “Perhaps if I get to know you better.” 

Ava’s eyebrows raise a little at this, and Beatrice feels warmth in her cheeks. She hadn’t meant it like that. But Ava doesn’t seem to mind. 

Beatrice wants to ask personal questions. She wants to know what was so compelling to this beautiful, reckless jackass that she went out in an impending blizzard with her camera to capture it. She wants to know about the scar. She should quit while she’s ahead. 

“So,” Ava says after an awkward silence, “what do you do for fun around here?” She gestures around at the interior of the cabin. 

Beatrice clears her throat. “Well, I was about to settle in with some reading, until the dogs heard you calling for help.” 

Mary lifts her head off of Lilith’s ribcage and makes a little sound in her throat, as if to say,  _ I heard her first. _

Ava draws the blanket tighter around herself. “Anything good?” 

Beatrice figures she’s got this girl figured out. “Probably nothing you’d be interested in.” 

But Ava is game, and says, “Hey, try me.” 

Beatrice picks up Rousseau’s Confessions and shows it to her. “Your speed?” she asks archly.

Ava feigns shock. “Rousseau confessed? Shit! I fucking knew he did it! Was it in the study, with a candlestick?” 

Beatrice shakes her head. It’s so stupid, but she can’t help laughing a little anyway. “No.”

“No, really, what’s it about?” 

“It’s widely regarded as the first work of self-analysis.” 

“Sounds deep.” 

“It is.” 

Ava bounces a little in place. “Well, hit me with a little.”

Beatrice looks at her incredulously. After a moment, she opens the book, flips to a passage she knows particularly well, and reads aloud: 

_ “Never have I thought so much, never have I realised my own existence so much, been so much alive, been so much myself ... as in those journeys which I have made alone and afoot. Walking has something in it which animates and heightens my ideas: I can scarcely think when I stay in one place ; my body must be set a-going if my mind is to work. The sight of the country, the succession of beautiful scenes ... releases my soul, gives me greater courage of thought, throws me as it were into the midst of the immensity of the objects of Nature ... my heart, surveying one object after another, unites itself, identifies itself with those in sympathy with it, surrounds itself with delightful images, intoxicates itself with emotions the most exquisite.” _

Ava thinks about this for a moment. “Okay, I get it. Walking in nature, it clears his mind and… and helps him see things differently. Puts him in like, a different state of mind. Like, the beauty of nature is… he connects with it in a… he connects with his heart.” She looks expectantly at Beatrice. 

“Yes, that’s the general idea.” Beatrice is amused. Ava's not educated, but she’s not stupid. She’s silly, but there’s also something more, there. 

Ava nods thoughtfully. “Okay, cool, good, I like it. Keep going.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah, really.” 

So Beatrice reads some more. Ava stops her, and asks her questions, and they talk about the passages as they go. 

“This guy was a piece of work,” Ava comments, as the night grows late. 

Beatrice smiles. “Yes, I suppose so.” 

“I mean, really smart. Like, he could really write. But, wow. I would never want to date him.” 

Beatrice pauses. “Wouldn’t you?” 

Ava smirks. “Not really, no. Not even if I was into that kind of thing.” 

“What kind of thing?”

“Come on. Seriously?”

“I don’t want to assume.” 

“Dudes.” 

Beatrice suspected as much. She has little desire to address it. She sets the book down. Sleep is starting to creep in at the corners of her consciousness. “I think I ought to turn in. You can have the bed. I’ll pitch my camp out here.” 

“No no,” Ava objects. “I wanna be by the fireplace.” 

Beatrice shakes her head. “You’ve had a rough night. You ought to have the bed.”

Ava looks sleepy too, and her attempt at chivalry crumbles when Beatrice persists. “OK look, I’ll sleep in the bed. But, I mean, how big a bed are we talking? It’s dumb for you to sleep on the floor in your own house.” 

The bed is a queen. It could accommodate them both without a problem. “We barely know each other,” Beatrice objects weakly. 

Ava makes some sort of dismissive gesture underneath the blanket. “Pfff, please. We can do head-to-foot if you’re really gonna be weird. But I can control myself, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

It is not what Beatrice is worried about. She sighs. “No, it’s fine.” 

It is not fine.


	3. Chapter 3

Beatrice gets into bed and shifts herself over to make room for Ava. She turns on her side so that her back is to Ava. She’s gotten herself so used to the idea that she doesn’t need this sort of thing, and she thinks she can avoid being tempted. She feels Ava climb in beside her, and shifting this way and that, the mattress springs softly protesting as she figures out how to be comfortable in the bed. After a moment, she goes still. 

“How come you don’t live with the other Yupik in that village on the other side of the reservoir?” Ava asks.

Beatrice sighs. “I’m not entirely like them. I’m my own creature. Happier alone.”

“I don’t buy it,” Ava says flatly. “But you do you, I guess.”

Beatrice is stunned by the cavalier way Ava dismisses her. 

“You barely know me.”

“Yeah, but self imposed exile is usually about something else. Anyway, I’m sorry, I’m prying again. You just seem… lonely.”

At this moment, Lilith jumps up onto the bed and curls herself around Beatrice’s feet. “As you can see, I don’t want for company.”

“Ah Well, color me embarrassed, then.” The sarcasm in Ava’s voice is too much. 

“Goodnight, Ava,” Beatrice says firmly. She closes her eyes, and after an absurdly long time listening to her own breathing and the kitchen clock ticking, she falls asleep. 

She’s aware of Ava stirring at some point and getting out of bed. She figures she’s probably going to the bathroom, and falls back asleep. She has no idea how much time has passed when she wakes, and feels Ava getting back into bed again. 

To her alarm, she feels Ava slide closer to her, and touch her shoulder gently. “Hey, are you awake?”

“Hm?” Beatrice manages.

 _“I believed that I was approaching the end of my days without having tasted to the full any of the pleasures for which my heart thirsted...without having ever tasted that passion which, through lack of an object, was always suppressed.”_ She’s quoting Rousseau. “You have that bit highlighted. How come?”

Beatrice stirs. She’s suddenly more awake. “What do you think it means?” she hedges.

“I think it means that you’ve never felt real passion for someone,” Ava says earnestly. “I think that’s sad.” She rubs Beatrice’s shoulder. “Look, turn over, I just wanna see your face.”

Beatrice frowns, but turns over and finds herself looking at Ava’s pretty face, framed by her moonlight-touched hair. She’s looking at Beatrice with so much… what? _Feeling_. 

“I’ve never met anyone like you.” 

Beatrice’s heart is throbbing in her ears. 

“I… I wanna kiss you,” Ava goes on. “Not because I think I owe you anything, even though I do owe you, obviously, but just because I think you’re beautiful. And if you don’t want me to, you should tell me right now, because I don’t know how much longer I can sit here with you looking at me like that and—“

Beatrice reaches up and curls her hand around the back of Ava’s neck and draws her down into a kiss that she now knows she wanted several hours ago. It’s soft, but eager, and honest. The night is quiet, except for the snoring of the dogs and the ticking of the kitchen clock. Ava’s mouth is soft, and opens immediately to invite Beatrice deeper. It’s tentative, but Beatrice accepts the invitation and cautiously runs her tongue along Ava’s lower lip.

Everything in her feels like it’s melting at once.

Ava’s hand grasps at Beatrice’s long, thick braid, tugging gently in a way that says Ava feels she wants more, but is holding back, letting Beatrice decide how intense this will become. “I was cold inside,” Ava whispers, “but I think you were too, in a different way.”

Beatrice doesn’t want to talk. She just wants to kiss Ava, and kiss her some more, and forget the cold outside and within, just let herself melt into this ridiculous, improbable girl she dug out of the snow and brought into her bed. But she manages to murmur, “I’m not cold anymore,” before she forgets everything but the sweetness of Ava’s mouth. 

It may be winter outside; but in Beatrice’s body, it’s spring; wet, full of blossoms opening, soft buds dying to burst, flowers blooming that she wants so much for Ava to pluck. When she feels Ava’s hand slide up the back of her threadbare tee shirt, she releases a sigh, a little sound of contentment. 

“This far,” she whispers, before losing herself in another kiss, “but no farther.”

“Okay, sure.” 

And so they stay, softly kissing, learning the taste of each other’s mouths and the sound of each other’s sighs. Beatrice wants more, so much more, but knows that they’ll have two days stuck in here, probably, and wants to wait. She wants to _want_. 

That’s what’s been missing. That’s what she has been afraid to let into her life. Wanting. And now here it is. She needs to dwell in it. The delicious ache of passionate longing. This absurd, beautiful girl has kissed her awake and made her _want_ something. 

They kiss, hungrily, pulling at each other’s clothes. Once or twice, Ava’s hand fumbles at the waistband of Beatrice’s flannel pajamas, and Beatrice stops and says softly, but firmly, “This far, no farther.” She throws her leg over Ava, and draws them together, pressing their bodies against each other. She’s so warm, so alive, Beatrice wants everything, all at once. But she waits. She waits until they’re both trembling with desire, rutting against each other, moaning gently. 

Lilith looks up from the foot of the bed and decides she doesn’t want to be around for this. She jumps off and prances away.

Ava laughs. “We drove her out.”

Beatrice chuckles. “She isn’t often party to this sort of thing.”

Ava looks at her; she’s flushed, her lips are a bit swollen from so much kissing, and despite her grin, she looks at Beatrice with so much longing. “I really want you.”

Beatrice kisses her again, catches her lower lip lightly between her teeth. “What’s your rush?”

“You,” Ava says breathlessly. “You’re my rush.”

“This far,” Beatrice repeats, “no farther.” 

Ava lets go of her and rolls onto her back. “So this is how you play hard to get in a two-room cabin.” 

Beatrice smiles. “We have time.”

She’s aching to have every bit of Ava. To taste and feel her, inch by greedy inch. But she wants to dwell in that precious ache for a while before she gives in to it. She rolls onto her back too, looking up at the timbers of the ceiling. 

Spring, after all, doesn’t come all at once. It takes time for the snows to melt, to trickle down, for life to come into the cold earth, for it to melt and soften till the sun’s touch caresses green, growing things from it.

She laces her fingers through Ava’s, and they stay that way, until they fall asleep again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m posting an extra chapter tonight :)

What passes for morning in winter in Alaska is pale yellow fingers of light that reach across the snow. Here, they will have about four hours of muted daylight before dipping into a purple dark again. Beatrice awakes with the sky looking salmon pink through the bedroom window, and when she sits up in bed, she sees through the frosted glass that the sun sits on the horizon, along with two slightly softer, blurry clones of itself. There are sun dogs in the sky. 

There’s a girl in her bed.

She decides to accept both as auspicious.

Ava is still sleeping, so Beatrice gets up, brews coffee, feeds the dogs, and starts to scramble some eggs. Ava shuffles out of the bedroom and takes in what’s going on. She smiles. “Morning.” 

Beatrice smiles at her, but doesn’t say anything until she pours a coffee and hands it to her. “There’s creamer in the cupboard if you want it. I prefer it black, myself.” 

Ava gives her a lopsided smile. “Yeah, personally, I like my coffee like I like my women.” She waits a beat, and Beatrice just looks at her, dreading the inevitable punch line. “With big brains.” She opens the cupboard and gets out the creamer. 

That joke makes no sense. It’s dreadful. It’s hilarious. Beatrice wants to push her against the wall and show her how dreadful and hilarious it is. She simply says, “Eggs?”

“Yeah, thanks.” 

Beatrice hands her a plate and they sit at the small table by the window. She drops a couple of strips of dried meat on Ava’s plate. Ava looks at them for a moment, then asks, “What are they?”

“Seal jerky.” 

Ava looks at her for half a beat, then shrugs and takes a bite and gnaws on it. “Yup, it’s jerky. You make it yourself?”

“Yes.”

They eat quietly for a while, and Beatrice muses about what it means that Ava did not immediately move for intimacy after last night. Is it that she wants to pretend it didn’t happen? Or is she respecting Beatrice’s space and pace? “So,” she comments after a bit, “you don’t really seem like Army material.”

Ava grins. “You think? I’m an army brat. My mom is still a Colonel at a base in Germany.”

“So you went into the family business. Very traditional of you.” 

“Well,” Ava says, around a mouthful of seal jerky, “I got used to kind of bouncing around my entire childhood, so the idea of settling in one place felt weird. The end result of growing up that way. Also means I know a little about a lot of different things, which is fun.”

“You’re a dilettante, then,” Beatrice prods.

“Hey, you take that back,” Ava responds, in mock offense. 

“I won’t.”

Ava smirks. She knows when she’s being baited. “There’s a few things I know a lot about. Maybe you should let me show you.”

Well, there’s the answer. Ava has been respecting her space. This pleases Beatrice greatly. It means Ava will cooperate with her sense of timing, of delaying gratification. Beatrice looks forward to seeing her in next to nothing again. She was too annoyed with her last night to appreciate it. “Patience,” Beatrice says. 

Ava sighs and stretches back in the chair. “So I’ve lived all over the place, what about you? You live here your whole life? I bet you’ve spent some time somewhere else.”

Beatrice is surprised at Ava’s perceptiveness. “I did. I went to uni in Oregon. Came back when I was done.”

“What did you study?”

“Philosophy.”

“Surprise, surprise,” Ava says. “So why’d you come back?” 

Beatrice shrugs. “The lower 48 wasn’t for me.”

“Feels like there’s more to that story.”

“There’s always more.”

Ava thinks for a while, drinking her coffee and looking at Beatrice. “You think you’re a loner,” she says finally. “So the lower 48 is too people-y for you. But it also changed you, so now you don’t totally feel like part of the Yupik family either. Am I getting warm?”

“You might be.”

Ava gets up and goes to stand in front of the fireplace again. She looks up at the fish mask. “What did he show you?”

“What’s thé scar on your back?”

Ava turns around, looking startled for the first time.

“I saw it when you were getting changed last night.”

“So, something personal for something personal, huh?”

Beatrice decides if Ava is willing to give something up, perhaps she can too. 

“I had spinal fusion surgery as a kid. I’ve got bone grafts, plus a plate and a couple of screws in there.”

“So you’ve pretty much always been screwed, then.”

Ava grins. “Pretty much.”

“I’m surprised the army took you, given that.”

“Well you know. Mom’s a colonel. So they found me a non-combat role.” Ava puts her hands on her hips. “Now you. What did the mask show you?”

Beatrice hesitates. “It showed me… that I would have to open my life to someone.” 

“That’s it?” Ava looks at Beatrice like she’s silly. “I guess for you, that’s a big deal.” 

“It is.” 

“Is that why you didn’t want things to go too far last night? You’re afraid of opening up to someone?” 

“No. I know that’s inevitable. I saw as much. I just wanted to prolong the … the wanting.” 

Ava looks quizzical at this. Beatrice isn’t surprised. Ava is the sort who is focused on the seizing. Ava is a bundle of impulses, wanting something is nothing new or unique for her. The having is more important to her. “Let me help you understand what I mean.” 

She comes over, puts a hand on Ava’s waist, guides her to the window. Ava looks out at the sky, at the fading sun dogs that still leave their traces. The world is blanketed in white. There is no sound, no tracks in the snow. The wilderness is a blank canvas. “It’s beautiful,” Ava murmurs. 

“Yes.” Beatrice leans close against Ava’s back. The closeness rouses memories of last night, and Beatrice’s stomach swims. She speaks softly against the side of Ava’s neck. “It’s beautiful. It’s quiet. We have a sanctum, a place in which to make anything we choose. Now, you feel the warmth of my breath on your neck, yes?” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

She slides her hands down to Ava’s hips and continues speaking. “What does it make you feel?” 

“It makes me want you to kiss me there,” Ava sighs. 

Beatrice blows softly against the place where her mouth lingers, and Ava shivers in her hands. “And what does that feel like?” 

“It… I want more.” 

“But what does the wanting feel like?” 

Ava takes a moment, seeming not to understand the question. 

“Anticipation?” Beatrice prompts.

“Yeah. The skin there is all, just… raw nerves.” 

Beatrice blows again, gently, on Ava’s neck, and holds her as she shudders again. “And elsewhere?” 

“It’s… hot, in my chest. I’m dying, and living, all at once. I’m full of…” Ava flounders. “My mind is racing. I can’t think right. I just keep thinking of you, and what I wish you would do, and what I wish you would let me do for you…” She makes a little frustrated groan. 

Beatrice smiles. “It’s pleasant, isn’t it.” Beatrice slips her hands under the hem of the sweater Ava is wearing and delights herself with how soft Ava’s skin is. She settles her hands back at Ava’s waist. 

“It’s torture,” Ava says. “But yeah. Nice torture.” 

“We have time,” Beatrice says again. “Why not savor?” And then she kisses Ava’s neck, softly, with warm, wet lips, and Ava goes loose and leans back against her. 

“Oh,” is all she can manage. 

Beatrice luxuriates of the feeling of Ava in her arms. Ava, trusting her weight to Beatrice, Ava loving the touch of Beatrice’s lips. She wants to touch Ava, everywhere – but not yet. She wants to teach her patience, first. 

She kisses Ava’s neck again, wraps her arms around Ava’s waist, and enjoys the little mewling sound that her kiss elicits. After a moment of dwelling in it, Beatrice says, “I should make you aware, I do have a CB radio in here. I could theoretically attempt to contact your base, and make them aware that you’re here.” 

Ava stiffens. “It would take them a minute to dig out the choppers, but they’d still probably want to chopper me out.” She turns around. “Wait, no cell phone?” 

“I have one,” Beatrice says, “but I can already tell you the tower is knocked out, I can see it from the rear window.” 

Ava smiles lopsidedly. “Oh no. No cell service. Whatever shall we do?” 

“As I said, I do have a CB radio.” She points to the dusty apparatus in the corner of the living room. She hasn’t used it in ages. 

“It looks broken,” Ava says hopefully. 

“I don’t think it’s broken,” Beatrice teases. 

“I think it looks very broken.” Ava is firm. 

“Well, then I guess we’ve no choice but to wait until cell service comes back.” 

“How long?”

“At least a day.” 

Ava smiles. “What a shame.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally earning the E rating

They do some more reading together. Around lunchtime, Ava gets restless, and starts playing with Camila, throwing a tennis ball to the other side of the cabin and listening to the scrabbling of the dog’s nails as she runs and gets it, and brings it back, bright-eyed and ready to chase it again. And then, munching on a sandwich Beatrice makes her, Ava settles back on the elk rug and sits in the firelight, gazing up at the mask. 

“You said you made him for a dance?” 

“Yes.” 

“So that’s like, a dance that’s part of your… your religion?” 

“I prefer to say spiritual practice, but yes.” 

“What was it for?” 

“The dance?”

“Yeah. I mean, was it for a certain… occasion or… for a specific reason, I guess?” 

Beatrice smiles. Her words are ungraceful, but she’s asking good questions. “There are lots of occasions. Some dances are to celebrate things. Some are for telling stories. Some are to open your eyes to the spirit world. The dance that I wore him to was for that purpose. In winters, we gather a few times for these sorts of dances.” 

Ava seems fascinated. “So why does he have a fish down the middle of his face?”

“It’s a salmon. The dance was at the end of the silver salmon season.” 

“A little on the nose, no?” 

Beatrice smiles. “Directly on the nose, actually.”

“Can you show me?” Ava asks, suddenly turning eager.

“What?”

“Can you show me one of your dances? I mean, if it’s the kind of thing that I’m allowed to see. You know, if it’s not, like. You know. Wrong for me to be part of.” 

Beatrice is taken a little aback at the request. “No, it’s… it’s not wrong for me to show you. Maybe… a bit later.” Beatrice hasn’t been to a dance since the night of that one. It’s too much of a surprise to be asked out of nowhere like this. 

Ava looks disappointed. “Alright. I’m sorry, I don’t want to be obnoxious. I just want to know you better.” 

Beatrice understands. She looks around for where she placed Ava’s things last night. “Hey, you’d probably better check on your camera and make sure it’s alright.” She pulls it out from where it sits under Ava’s folded army jacket. 

Ava takes it, holds it up, turns it around. “Looks ok.” She pushes a button to power it on. 

“Did you get what you wanted before you got stuck?” Beatrice asks. 

Ava looks at the display on the back. A look of glee lights her face. “I did!” 

She turns the camera, and on the display is an incredible photograph of a moose, silhouetted against the stars, his antlers and beard tipped with sparkling white frost. “You’re really good,” Beatrice says, humbled a little. “I’m a lot less annoyed at having pulled you from that ditch last night.” 

“So it was a good photo that did it, not the making out, huh? Duly noted.” She grins, and flips through some other photographs. “I admit, taking beautiful pictures of Alaska is like shooting fish in a barrell, but still…” 

The frozen tundra, with a stunning sun pillar in the center of the frame. Spruce trees, framed against a pure blue sky. And then, a confounding shot that Beatrice doesn’t quite recognize: a basket of some sort, with a pile of limp cloth. 

“That’s one of those Japanese spy balloons I was telling you about.” 

Beatrice squints at it, incredulous. “Who could they have been sending over in that? It’s so small!” 

“Yeah, well, the plan didn’t work very well, that’s probably why you never heard about it.” Ava takes the camera back, and shuts it off. “I just heard that moose trumpeting last night and I thought it was worth the risk to get a good photo. Anyway, there. Now you know I’m not a complete moron.”

Beatrice reaches out and strokes Ava’s face. “I knew that already.” She yawns. “Do you want to take a nap?” 

Ava’s eyes light up. “You mean a nap, or a ‘nap’?” 

“Just a nap. Unless you can convince me otherwise.” 

Under the thick comforter, Beatrice curls herself around Ava, fits the curve of her bent legs flush against Ava’s, the front of her body against Ava’s back. She kisses the back of Ava’s neck and shoulders softly, until Ava whines again. “I thought you said this was a nap.” 

“I’m sorry, am I keeping you awake?” 

“Yes,” Ava complains. “And now I really want to fuck you.” Beatrice draws a sharp little breath at that, and Ava chuckles silently. “Oh, sorry, did I get you with that?” 

In truth, she did. Beatrice is surprised how much it stirred her lust to hear it out loud. “You really want to?” 

“Yeah, I _really_ do.” 

“Tell me.” 

“Tell you what?” 

“Tell me how you would do it.” 

“This isn’t fair, I’m not a… a talker like that.” 

“Then you must not really want to.” 

“I do!” 

“Then tell me.” Beatrice sucks on the back of Ava’s neck, listens to her groan, and then stops. 

Ava’s hesitation draws out for a moment. “I don’t really do this, you know. Talk. But… if you’d let me fuck you, I’d want to do it In front of the fire, on the rug,” she begins, uncertainly, “on your back. I wouldn’t take all your clothes off, not right away. I’d tease you for a while first, through the fabric of your clothes. That tee shirt, for example, is really thin, and I bet you could really feel it if I got your nipple between my teeth and flicked my tongue over it.” 

Beatrice stiffens, picturing it. 

“I wouldn’t push your shirt up. I’d wait until I got you so worked up that you did it yourself. And then when you did, I’d suck on your tits, and kiss them and lick them till you were grinding yourself against me.”

Beatrice’s breathing thickens. “That sounds very, very nice.” 

Ava’s voice softens, deepens. Beatrice can tell, she’s thinking about it too, really picturing what she wants. “And then I’d kiss down your stomach, and then down your thigh, and give you a few little bites through your pajama pants. The fabric is a little thicker, so I’d need to bite harder for you to feel it. But I’d bite my way down, and then back up the other thigh, until I could feel the heat from…” She pauses again for a moment. Beatrice can feel her uncertainty, her doubt that it’s really alright to say these things, to tell Beatrice what she really wants to do. 

“Go ahead,” Beatrice urges. “I know what you want. I want you to say it.” She shifts up and runs her tongue around the outside of Ava’s ear, and she whimpers. 

“...until I could feel the heat from your pussy… I’d kiss it, through your clothes, and breathe a long, hot breath on it, until I could tell how wet you were. I’d want to make sure you soaked all the way through those pants before I took them off.” 

Beatrice is wet just listening to her talk about it. “So you’d take them off of me. And then?”

“And then?” Ava is clearly just as aroused. Her voice is breathy and heat is coming off her like a furnace. “And then, I’d lick you. I’d get my tongue in you and lick every last drop of your juice, till it was running down my chin. I’d run my tongue the whole length of your pussy and then stop at your clit, and suck on it till you were wound so tight you could bust. And then I’d slip a finger inside you, and press it into your G spot, and I’d fuck you and suck you till you came, long and hard. Because I know how to make a woman come, Beatrice. I’m really, really good at it. And I really, really want to make you come.” 

Beatrice has so much tension in her body now, she’s like a violin string on the verge of snapping. It would probably take very little to get her to orgasm right now. 

“Doesn’t that sound good?” Ava asks, sounding a little desperate. “Don’t you want to let me do that?” 

“Yes, very much,” Beatrice says, and she knows she sounds nearly as desperate. “But not yet.” 

“Argh,” Ava groans. “Please, if you don’t let me fuck you right now, I’m gonna go take care of myself.” 

“No,” Beatrice says flatly. 

“What do you mean, no?”

“I mean, no. I’m teaching you patience. I’m teaching you to enjoy the wanting. You won’t do any such thing. You’ll wait.” 

Ava turns pouty. “I could just go do it, and how would you know?” 

“I wouldn’t,” Beatrice admits. “But you would, and you’ll know you wouldn’t have gotten as much out of it when it finally happens. You’ll never know what you might have missed out on by not doing it my way.” 

“You suck,” Ava complains. 

“No,” Beatrice responds, “but I might later, if you behave.” 

“Then you need to get off of me, I gotta cool off.” 

Beatrice is amused by her frankness, but obliges her. She rolls off of Ava and turns on her other side, staring at the wall until she manages a nap. She has very vivid dreams of Ava’s hands and mouth all over her body. 


	6. Chapter 6

When Beatrice gets up, it’s three p.m. Dusk is settling, and she finds the bed empty. She wanders out into the main room, and sees no sign of Ava. 

The front door is cracked, and Beatrice shuffles over and pushes it open. The cold bites through her pajamas. Ava is standing outside in the enclosed porch, a blanket wrapped around herself, staring out into the snow. Beatrice touches her shoulder. Ava turns around, and her dark eyes are red, cheeks stained with tears that are half frozen on her face. Beatrice frowns, pulls her inside. Shuts the door against the cold. 

“Are you alright?” 

Ava just looks at her. Beatrice doesn’t know what she needs, so she puts her arms around Ava, who is shivering almost as badly as she was last night. She rearranges the blanket so that it wraps around both of them, creating a little oven of their shared body heat, and they stand in the middle of the room, Ava breathing deep shuddering breaths. 

Beatrice notices at this moment that the mask is not on the wall. It’s sitting on the mantle. “Oh, Ava,” she sighs. “What did you do?”

“I put it on,” Ava confesses. “I just wanted to see whether I could see what you saw.” 

“You couldn’t possibly,” Beatrice says, confused. What did Ava hope to accomplish? What, if anything, did she actually experience? Why was it affecting her so much? 

“I didn’t see anything. I just looked in the window and saw the reflection of myself, and…” She starts to cry fresh, hot tears. “...that’s it. That’s all. I’m not as deep as you are. I’m not... I’m not as good... I thought maybe when you told me that it showed you that you were supposed to let someone in, that maybe it was supposed to be me, but what am I? I’m a dumbass army brat. When I put the mask on I was just a dumbass army brat wearing a mask I had no business wearing.” She hiccups. 

Beatrice’s heart is a minor disaster at the moment. If it were anyone else, she’d be angry at them for taking the mask down from the wall and trying to do something like that. But with Ava, it’s all jumbled. She’s still frustrated, but she wants to comfort her too, because she did this idiotic thing in the service of wanting to know Beatrice more, wanting to understand this very deep and fundamental piece of her. Beatrice holds her tightly. “You’re more than that. We’re not the same, but the differences are a good thing. You’ll understand that. You did a stupid thing, but I’m… I’m not angry.”

Ava sniffles and rubs an eye with her fist. “That sounds fake.” 

“It’s not.” Beatrice presses her lips to Ava’s cheek, and says, “You’ve just got a bit of cabin fever. Combined with apparently dreadful self esteem. It’s bound to strike even the best of us sometime or other.” 

Ava gives her a wan smile. 

Beatrice can’t address the question of whether Ava is supposed to be the one that she lets in, because she’s afraid it’s already happening.  _ The inevitability of it all,  _ she thinks. She takes consolation in philosophy, and tries to give the same:  _ “So finally we tumble into the abyss, we ask God why he has made us so feeble. But, in spite of ourselves, He replies through our consciences: 'I have made you too feeble to climb out of the pit, because I made you strong enough not to fall in.’” _

“I probably don’t need to point out the irony of that quote,” Ava says, already back to her smirking self, even though her eyes are still glassy and red. 

“In your defense, you didn’t fall in. You went voluntarily, to get a photograph of a moose.” Beatrice glances at the dying fire. “How about you put another log on the fire, and I’ll get us some dinner.” 

“Wait,” Ava says. “Will you show me the dance later? Please?” 

“Yes,” Beatrice promises. And she means it.

A little while later, Ava sits in front of the fire with Mary’s head on her lap. Beatrice presents her with a large, earthenware bowl of stew: thick and spicy, gamey and meaty, and starchy and wonderful. For Beatrice, this stew is something handed down from her mother, and tastes like home. Ava takes a spoonful. 

“Do you like it?” 

Ava nods vigorously. Beatrice sits down next to her with her own bowl, and the other dogs come over. Camila gently head-butts Beatrice’s shoulder. Lilith just sits there looking disapprovingly at Beatrice for not sharing. 

“We should probably be at the table,” Beatrice says by way of apology. 

Ava smiles. “Nah, it’s okay. I’m used to dogs.” 

“So, where else have you been as a reporter for Stars and Stripes?” Beatrice asks, trying to ignore the dogs and their various contrivances to get stew. 

“Well, all over the states, anywhere we’ve got bases, you know. A bunch around Europe. Germany, Spain, France, Belgium…” 

“We have bases in Belgium?” 

Ava chuckled. “No, I just stopped off for the mussels in Brussels. Good beer, by the way. Anyway, I haven’t been to Fallujah or anyplace like that. Because of my back, they don’t let me into combat zones. But I’ve been to some places in Morocco, Dubai, Israel when there was a cease-fire in Gaza for like five minutes. So, you know. Around.” 

“So, no trauma, then?” 

“I wouldn’t say that. I’ve seen some fucked-up stuff, even if I wasn’t in war zones.” Ava’s brow furrows a little, and then she shrugs it off. “But no, nothing like… lifelong scarring or anything.” 

Beatrice now wants to look up all of Ava’s catalog of photographs and articles. She wants to know everything. 

Ava finishes the rest of her stew in quiet thought, looking at Beatrice, looking at the fire, looking at the dogs. Then she dips a finger into her bowl and gets a little daub of gravy, and holds it out to Lilith. After a moment of dubiously inspecting her, Lilith comes over and licks it off her finger. 

“Oh, no,” Beatrice sighs. “Now she’s going to want more.” 

Ava laughs. “I’m like grandma. I come, spoil them, and then leave.” 

They both fall silent at this. They’d almost forgotten that she was going to have to leave at some point. Maybe some point soon. Beatrice lays her bowl aside, giving up on keeping Camila’s nose out of it, and crawls over to Ava, and kisses her gently on the mouth. “Wait here.” 

Beatrice disappears into her room, and takes from her closet the loose dress in splashy colors, the beaded necklaces, the headdress of feathers and fur, the fans of white caribou fur decorated with bright red and yellow stitching around the grass handles. She hasn’t put on any of it in maybe two years. And now, of all reasons, she’s putting it on for Ava. 

When she comes out again, Ava is buried under a pile of dogs. She looks up, and her expression is one of awe. After a moment of slackjawed staring, she asks, “Can I take a couple of pictures? Not for the paper. Just for me.”

Beatrice pauses, awkwardly wondering what to say. “Only a couple, and only if they’re for you and nobody else. And try to be a bit subtle about it, would you?” 

Ava nods vigorously. “Of course. I can do subtle.” 

Beatrice doubts this, but nevertheless, they proceed. 

The dance she chooses is a story. After some thought, she decided it would be better not to use something that was for more sacred experiences. The story is of a hunter, alone in the wilderness, who is caught in an ice storm, and is sheltered by a bear, held safe beneath her great heavy paw through the worst of the night. The dance is a style somewhat particular to the Yupik. It involves no movement of the feet, only the bending and swaying of the body, motions of the arms, illustrating each part of the story. Beatrice closes her eyes, and even without the drums, she’s able to remember the movements, and the parts of the story that they tell. She feels the ice against her face, the weight of the spear in her hand, the despair of her fire going out. She feels the desolation and hopelessness of the lost hunter, and then the terror of the bear coming upon her. And then the warmth of being sheltered by the majestic animal that she had once feared. 

Her fans weave patterns in the air around her head and shoulders, and she finds herself momentarily swept up in something older than French philosophy and digital photography. She finds herself a part of that which has been handed down, and down, and down. It strikes at her heart in a way she did not anticipate. 

When she opens her eyes, Ava sits on the rug, legs crossed, camera sitting at her side, looking at her in wonder. She seems almost reverent. “It was beautiful,” she says in a very small, quiet voice. 

Beatrice had a whole speech in her head, prepared beforehand, explaining the meaning of what she just showed Ava, but it all evaporates in her mouth. Suddenly deeply emotional, she excuses herself from the room and retreats to the bedroom. 

She strips out of the clothes, and sits naked on the edge of the bed, struggling through a sudden thicket of emotions. As much as she is the reader, the thinker, the loner, she is also part of something. As much as it pricks up her intellect to engage in exercises of wit, it is not her entire self. She is reminded of that fact because of Ava. Because Ava got lost in the snow. Ava wanted to know her. Ava asked her to dance. 

What is tomorrow? She doesn’t know. There isn’t a tomorrow. Ava will be gone soon. Beatrice gets up with fresh resolve, and walks, as she is, into the living room. 

Ava, still sitting on the rug, is completely frozen and stunned. “Holy shit,” she mutters after a moment. 

Beatrice smiles, and moves closer to her. The dogs look up at her, a little bewildered, and decide to go to the other room. Ava sits, looking up at her, and the hunger in her eyes is like a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart. 

“I hope this isn’t another exercise in wanting,” Ava says, looking a little helpless. 

“What do you want?” Beatrice asks her softly. 

“I want to be what you need,” Ava says, sincerely. “I want to be the one that you let in. I wanna… I wanna make you feel things.” 

“You already are. You already do.” 

Ava has shifted up onto her knees, and she’s got a grip on Beatrice’s thighs. She looks up at her earnestly. “I want you, Beatrice, with everything in me. Every fiber of my being. I want every bit of you.” She kisses one of her thighs and says hoarsely, “Please don’t let this be another exercise. I don’t just want to fuck you. I want to give you…” She flounders. 

Beatrice’s body is already prepared to receive Ava’s affection. In the warmth of the glowing hearth, her skin has pinpricks of gooseflesh, her nipples stand up hard, and there is already wetness between her thighs. “Show me,” Beatrice says. “Show me what you want to give me.” 

A sob of relief escapes Ava’s lips. Beatrice strokes Ava’s hair and smiles. Ava is already in. She has already been the one to breach Beatrice’s self-created solitude. “Thank you,” Ava sighs, and begins to kiss Beatrice’s body at the seam where her thigh meets her hip. She kisses sloppily, sincerely, lavishly. Her tongue sweeps up, and then down, and then her hands slide up, and she presses a thumb against Beatrice’s swollen, aching clit. 

Beatrice shudders at the contact, the heat that immediately wells up, the wetness that instantly coats her thighs. It's a relief for her too, to give herself this sweetness. Accepting the affection that Ava wants to give her. Beatrice digs her fingers into Ava’s hair, and gently guides her head forward. A moment later, she feels the intensity of Ava’s tongue sliding into her folds, probing, eagerly tasting the sensitive bud of nerves. Oh, she thinks, spring has come, and she is melting, flowing. 

It’s almost too much, so she uses her grip on Ava’s hair to pull her head back for a moment. “Easy,” she says. “It’s too good.” 

But then Beatrice lets her go again, lets her eager mouth lap at everything she can get at. Beatrice cradles her head in position, tenderly, gently. Not to push, but to stay connected to her, to guide her. When she looks down, she sees Ava kissing and licking her with eyes closed, with such reverence, and the sight of her there intensifies everything she feels. The pleasure is so much, her thighs tremble with it. She pulls Ava’s head away again. 

Ava whines a little. 

“I’m not going to last like this,” Beatrice explains with a gentle little laugh. 

Ava grins, and lies down on her back on the thick, fur rug. Looking up sweetly at her, she taps her chin and says, “Bring it here.” 

After a half-beat, Beatrice understands. She crouches down on the floor, and lays down on top of Ava for a moment, kisses her. She reaches out and finds a throw pillow nearby on the floor, lifts Ava’s head, and then slides it underneath. Then she scoots upward, and straddles Ava’s face. Smiling down affectionately, she lowers her aching sex onto Ava’s waiting mouth. Ava is enthusiastic, available, the texture of her tongue soft and rough at once, like velvet, and she kisses and licks and sucks exactly as she said she would, as if she intends to get every drop of her. Beatrice places her palms on the floor behind Ava’s head as she needs to, to steady herself when the onslaught of pleasure becomes too much. She lifts herself up and down, circles her hips to feel Ava’s tongue on every last inch of her sex, riding her mouth with every ounce of pent-up longing she’s felt since she first laid Ava down on this very same elk rug. 

Ava could never have been kept out, Beatrice knows this now. 

Beatrice is moaning her name, and Ava, though her mouth is full of Beatrice, moans back in response every time. Ava is gripping Beatrice’s hips tightly, squeezing her encouragement as Beatrice’s tension builds. Her hands slide up Beatrice’s waist, take hold of her breasts, and rub her thumbs over the stiff nipples. Stars shoot down her chest and into her stomach. 

She has a small orgasm that races through her, shivers up her back and then back down into her sex, and then Ava’s tongue is flickering across her clit, and she realizes she’s continuing higher still, until she feels as if she’s seeing stars. As if it’s a blizzard indoors. Her vision is shot through with a confetti of light and she shivers and pitches forward, coming like an avalanche, grinding herself against Ava’s mouth until the last of it has ebbed away, and she can no longer stand to be touched. Every little stroke of Ava’s tongue sends her into a convulsion, and though she wishes she didn’t need to pull away, she does. 

She scoots down and lays herself on top of Ava, who is still clothed, strokes her face fondly, smiles at her. As she’d promised, Beatrice sees her entire chin is covered with the evidence of her efforts. She looks thrilled and blissful. Beatrice kisses her deeply, licks the taste of herself off of Ava’s lips and tongue. In between kisses, Ava is busying her fingers with Beatrice’s thick braid, pulling off the elastic and unwinding it so that her dark hair spills down her shoulders. 

“Wonderful,” Beatrice murmurs, her body still sensitive and full of little aftershocks. 

“Oh, did you think I was done?” 

Beatrice laughs. “You’re not?”

Ava shakes her head. “Come on. You think I’m going to let you off with just two?” 

Beatrice kisses her mouth again. “You’re still wearing too many clothes.” 

“Patience,” Ava says with a little smirk.


	7. Chapter 7

“Sit up a minute,” Ava says.

Beatrice sits up, straddling Ava’s hips. Ava spends a moment gazing up at her adoringly, running her hands up her sides and then down the front of her body. She pats Beatrice’s hip and says, “Pick this up a little?”

Beatrice lifts herself up a bit, and Ava reaches between Beatrice’s thighs and slides a finger into her. Beatrice is soaked and swollen, and she gasps a little at this new, intense stimulation. “You can’t be serious.” 

“I am. Just go at your own pace, take what you want.” 

Beatrice rocks her hips a little, feeling the presence of Ava’s slender, strong finger inside her. She sighs, enjoys the way that Ava knows to curl her finger a little and hit the right place. Soon, she’s slowly riding Ava’s hand, letting herself be touched in a different way than before. Back arched, eyes closed in delight. Ava’s finger presses in, curls, makes corkscrews inside her; the joy Ava takes at being there is more than plain.

“I loved the other thing,” Ava says, “but I didn’t get to see your face.” Beatrice looks down at her, and her heart leaps again at the softness in Ava’s gaze. 

With her free hand, Ava picks up the camera, and trains its lens on Beatrice. “Can I?” 

Beatrice stops for a moment, panting. “Not for the paper,” she jokes. 

“Not for the paper. Just for me. Please?” 

Beatrice nods, and returns to the slow, deep, gentle swirling of her hips against the penetration of Ava’s touch. Ava sighs happily, and Beatrice hears the camera snap a couple of times. “God, you’re so fucking gorgeous,” Ava sighs. 

Beatrice looks down at her. Ava is so free with her affection, her admiration. Beatrice is almost embarrassed at how appreciative Ava is.

“I don’t want to forget you like this,” Ava sighs. 

Beatrice falters. The reminder that Ava will have to leave pricks at her heart. 

Ava sees immediately and sets the camera down and touches Beatrice’s face. “Shh, don’t think about it. Just be with me now, alright?”

Beatrice leans down and kisses Ava, and squeezes at the finger inside her, and strokes her hips against it until she spills over again, coming on top of Ava. Ava looks up at her with blissful eyes, whispering encouragement, “Yes, Beatrice, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, good, that’s it, come for me.” 

Spent, she lays there with Ava still inside her, the other arm holding her tightly. 

Spring is straining, pushing to break free from cold, thrusting up through thick soil. Spring is breaking open. It aches. It hurts. It is such a sweet pain.

After several quiet minutes locked together in front of the fireplace, Beatrice finally finds the energy to murmur, “You know, you’re still wearing too many clothes.” 

Ava yawns. “Yeah, what are you gonna do about it?” 

With a small effort, Beatrice pushes herself up, and looks down at Ava. “I thought I might take them off of you, if you don’t object.”

Ava, looking sleepy and sexy, grins up at her. “Oh, no, not that.” 

Beatrice slides her clothes off of Ava, and sits back on her knees for a minute, looking at her in the firelight, hair fanned out on the rug. She is fit, but also feminine; she has a delicious, bosomy body, the artful symmetry of her hips and breasts are a snare that catch Beatrice’s eyes for an extra moment. She lays herself against Ava’s skin, half-on, half-off of her. She can still feel her, but has left herself access to everything she wants to touch. 

“I don’t want to forget you either,” she says softly, and this time, Ava looks sad. “But more than that, I want you to know how special you are, how beautiful, how utterly worthy.” 

“You don’t know me enough to say that,” Ava says in a near-whisper. 

“I do,” Beatrice insists. She traces her fingers lightly down the middle of Ava’s chest, down her stomach, up again and across her ribcage. “You’re not the first person who’s been stuck in this cabin with me, you know. This isn’t what normally happens. I hope you understand that.” 

Ava’s eyes become glassy. “So why me?” 

Beatrice’s hand slides up, takes Ava’s breast in hand. It’s warm, and silky, and the nipple hardens against her palm. Ava sighs. “Because you were the one. You wanted to be what I needed, and you were.” She gently caresses, and Ava twitches a little, arches into her touch. 

They stop speaking for a few minutes as Beatrice’s hand wanders over Ava’s skin, coaxing goosebumps and sighs and moans from her, her fingertips drawing little swirling patterns around her neck, breasts, and hips. She kisses Ava’s face, jawline, neck. 

“If I could stay,” Ava sighs, “I know I could love you.” 

It’s a reckless thing to say. But Ava is reckless. That’s why Beatrice needed her. “If you could stay,” Beatrice repeats. “But you can’t. That doesn’t take away the value of this. You understand that, yes?”

Ava nods. 

Beatrice nudges Ava’s thighs apart, and lightly strokes the insides of them. The last 24 hours has turned Beatrice inside out. She already anticipates the yearning she will feel when Ava goes. 

“Please touch me,” Ava whispers. 

With a gentle kiss, Beatrice brushes the lightest, softest touch up Ava’s thigh and between her legs. “More?” 

“Please.”

Beatrice smiles. She presses a gentle finger into Ava’s folds, and draws a sharp little breath at how wet she is. 

“I’m ready for you.”

“I see.” Beatrice has all but run out of restraint, and she slides her fingers in, dips them into the wetness, runs them all up and down the length of Ava’s sex. Her moans are soft, exquisite things, and Beatrice wants to hear them again and again. She stills her fingers when she reaches Ava’s clit, asks her again: “More?” 

“Please.” 

With three fingers, she rubs slow, firm circles around Ava’s clit, and feels the arching and pitching of her body and the touch. The sounds she makes are delicious. It’s been a long while, Beatrice thinks, and she didn’t think she missed sex very much, but now she can hardly imagine why she thought that. Ava looks at her with such vulnerability. She’s so open, and Beatrice is ready to fall in. 

“Thank you,” Ava sighs. 

Beatrice thinks it’s a funny thing to say while making love.

“Thank you, for everything,” she goes on. 

Beatrice cannot bring herself to tease anymore, cannot bring herself to stop touching, stop stroking gently, lovingly, giving Ava what she craves so much. 

“Thank you for saving me, for bringing me into your home, for feeding me, for teaching me…” Ava can barely speak, but she’s trying, and Beatrice can see how important it is to her to get these words out now, at their most intimate moment. “Thank you for wanting me, for letting me want you, for being so beautiful and strong and gentle and patient… I…” She breaks off. Beatrice’s rhythm is steady, and she doesn’t speed up though Ava’s hips are moving against her touch and Beatrice can tell she wants more. 

“And thank you for this… Oh…” 

She finally gives up speaking, and Beatrice can feel her quaking, so she slows down her strokes, and Ava groans. The tension has built up, and she pitches her hips faster, chasing the touch of Beatrice’s hands. 

In a moment of mercy, Beatrice quickens her pace and watches with satisfaction as Ava comes, long and slow. She clutches at Beatrice’s wrist, and she’s moaning, “ Thank you… oh, Beatrice, thank you…” As she’s coming, Beatrice slips her fingers inside, to feel the quivering inside her. It is worth every moment of waiting. Every moment of wanting. She holds Ava until the tremors subside.

They decide to shower, and once underneath the water, Beatrice presses Ava back against the tile and asks her, “What do you like best?”

“Your fingers in my pussy,” Ava says without hesitation. She puts a foot up on the edge of the tub. 

“You’re worth this and so much more,” Beatrice says, pushing two fingers into her. She wants Ava to understand that everything she’s afraid of, of not being good enough, of not being what Beatrice needed, is just smoke and ash that washes away. Their communication is simple now; Ava tells Beatrice what she wants  _ –harder, slower, more–  _ and Beatrice gives it to her. Ava comes twice more, hanging onto Beatrice’s shoulders, leaning back against the tile wall with Beatrice’s long, strong fingers stroking inside her and the water running down their skin. 

When they finally end up naked in bed, they are both exhausted, heads swimming with endorphins. “You waited,” Beatrice points out as they lay tangled up in each other. 

“Yeah,” Ava sighs, and yawns. 

“Are you glad?”

“Yeah.” Ava looks at her. “Did you mean everything you said?” 

“You know I did.”

“No, I don’t know that. I hardly know you.” 

“You know me more than you did 24 hours ago. Far more. You’ve seen me. You took the trouble to know me. I taught you patience. You taught me wanting. Whatever happens, we’ve had that together. Do you understand?” 

“If I stayed, I could love you,” Ava says again. 

“If you stayed, I could love you back,” Beatrice says. It feels true. 

“The story,” Ava says, “the hunter and the bear. Are you the bear?” 

Beatrice kisses her. “We’re both the hunter. And we’re both the bear. We didn’t know it until just now.” 

It’s absurd to talk about anything past now. Beatrice’s mind is prone to go to such places, but instead, she kisses Ava again, and says, “If you stayed, who knows what we could be. But what have you learned about wanting?” 

Ava doesn’t say anything. 

Beatrice feels hollow at her own question. She wants Ava to stay. She wants, she wants, she wants.


	8. Chapter 8

They wake during the long night and make slow, leisurely love in the bed, wordless and soft, cradled by the quiet and almost dreamlike. They sleep again, wake to a pale sky, and Beatrice feels Ava’s warmth curled around her. 

Having had Ava at last does not seem to have quelled Beatrice’s wanting in the least. They sully every available surface in the cabin before breakfast, much to the apparent delight of Camila and the chagrin of Lilith and Mary. In between, they tell each other things, things that they couldn’t have imagined telling anyone two days ago. The world is drawing closer as things slowly groan to life again after the storm, but Beatrice ignores it as long as she can. 

They eat breakfast: eggs and jerky, and strong coffee, and then Beatrice persuades Ava to get dressed and bundle up. “To go where?” Ava demands. 

“For a walk,” Beatrice says casually, amusing herself with the confusion on Ava’s face. There is, after all, a good three feet of snow outside. 

But Ava trusts her instructions, so once she’s dressed for the weather, Beatrice produces two pairs of snowshoes. Ava grins. “Those really work?” 

“Of course.” 

With a little effort, Ava manages to get the hang of walking with them, and they stomp across the dazzling snowfields, so bright they’re almost blinding, sparkling like an ocean of diamonds. The spruce trees are pale, shimmering sentinels, the green of their needles barely visible in the layer of white. Ava hangs onto Beatrice’s hand, and they walk across the surface of the snow, toward the reservoir. Not so far that they can’t walk back, but far enough that she can see the trepidation in Ava’s face, feel the anxiousness in her grip, and see that she’s trusting Beatrice to keep her safe. 

Beatrice points, and out in the distance, thin tendrils of smoke pour from between the hills. “There’s the village,” Beatrice says. 

“That’s where your family is?” 

“My mother,” she says. “And my brothers.” 

Ava frowns, but doesn’t press for an explanation. 

“My father passed when I was young.” 

Ava looks at her sympathetically. “I’m sorry. Mine probably should have.” 

It is Beatrice’s turn to frown. 

Ava shakes her head. She just looks around, and awkwardly, leans over and gives Beatrice a little peck on the cheek. “I understand why you love this,” she says. 

Beatrice just smiles. “Maybe you’re starting to.” 

Ava looks past Beatrice’s shoulder and gasps. “Hey,” she says quietly. “Look.” 

Beatrice turns around to see a great, black moose emerging from the trees, his antlers carrying snow, his back and flanks dusted with it. 

“That’s my guy,” Ava says quietly. “I know it is.” 

The moose stops and looks at them, regarding them impassively. He knows they represent no danger to him. He can feel that. Beatrice can’t help noticing that Ava isn’t afraid of him, either. Respectful, but not afraid.

He’s several yards away. Ava lifts a hand in his direction. “Hey, big fella. Looks like you made it through okay.” 

The moose blinks a few times, lowers his head for a moment, and swings it back and forth. Snow falls down in clumps from his antlers. 

“I’m glad I met you,” Ava says to him. “I’m glad I got your picture, too. Thanks for letting me.” 

Beatrice smiles now. Ava is talking to the moose, but she also isn’t. 

The moose trumpets, and it reverberates across the snow, and Beatrice swears that the trees tremble a little bit. It looks at them for a moment more, and then turns around, and heads back into the trees.

“He totally likes me,” Ava says, smirking. 

Beatrice gives her an impish look. “He really does, an awful lot. In fact, I think he very much enjoyed it when you took his picture.” 

They walk back to the cabin, and after the long process of getting out of their gear and getting all the snow off, they settle in next to the fire and read some more. Ava’s mind is a pinball machine, but Beatrice loves the way the bright silver ball of her thoughts careens around and strikes home so often. 

It is nearly lunchtime when her cell phone makes a little chiming sound. She looks at it, and realizes that she has bars again. “They’ve fixed the tower,” she says, and the sad truth of it settles on her like a cold blanket. 

Ava doesn’t speak for a long minute. “Beatrice…” 

“You have to call them.” 

“I know.” 

They sit, looking at each other, weighted down by the sudden crush of reality coming back to claim what it’s owed. Beatrice hands the phone to Ava. She’s not really listening as Ava calls the base, explains where she is, what happened, and waits to find out when they’re going to come retrieve her. 

After she hangs up, she looks at Beatrice, and the heartache is plain on her face. 

“I’m selfish,” Beatrice says finally. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to go, either. But, this isn’t my home, and I…” 

Beatrice stops her. “I know. You can’t stay. You have to go where they deploy you.” 

Ava comes over to her where she sits in the beanbag chair near the fireplace. She wraps herself around Beatrice and sighs. “I shouldn’t feel like this,” she says. “I just met you, why do I feel like this?” 

Beatrice hates herself for allowing Ava to become so important so quickly. She has spent so long shutting her emotions out that the grief comes out of nowhere, too hard and too fast. “How much longer are you here?” she finally asks. 

“Here in your house, or here in Alaska?” 

“Both.” 

“They said they’re starting to clear the roads, so they’ll be able to get me maybe by the end of today. As for here in Alaska? I think once I get back to base, they’re going to be sending me to Washington. I have to cover some goddamn parade or something.” 

“Fuck the parade,” Beatrice says impetuously. 

“Fuck the parade,” Ava agrees. 

They cry quietly on each other for a little while. 

“I don’t connect with people,” Beatrice sniffles as they cling to each other. “It never happens. Why does it have to be like this?” 

Ava just holds onto her for a while. “It is what it is.” She picks her head up, and touches her forehead to Beatrice’s. “What if I could see you again, though?” 

Beatrice doesn’t understand. 

“I mean, this doesn’t have to be… look, I have to go all over the place, but I still… I could still come here sometimes. And I get leave, and stuff... this doesn’t have to be like, ‘and then they parted like two ships in the night and never saw each other again’, you know? I could come here again.” She pauses and then adds, “If you want me to.” 

Beatrice doesn’t know if she means it. Right now, she doesn’t care. The idea that she could have this again at some point is enough to quell the aching in her chest just a little bit. 

“I told you,” Ava says, “if I could stay, I know I could love you, but maybe I can anyway. Just, maybe sometimes I’ll have to do it from far away, and sometimes, I could do it here. If you wanted.”

Beatrice doesn’t know what to say. She kisses Ava, and just nods. Yes, a hundred times yes, she would take as much Ava as she could have, and if it isn’t as much as she wants, then she gets to enjoy the yearning in the spaces in between. Perhaps Ava is exactly what she needs, in a way that she didn’t even anticipate. 

“End of day, you said?”

“Yeah.” 

“Let’s go to bed once more before you go?” 

“Of course.” 

The Humvee shows up a little after dark, and they’ve worked hard to get all their crying and lovemaking out before the young corporals show up from the base to whisk Ava away. Beatrice feels a pang in her chest watching the vehicle roll into the deep swath cut into the snow by the giant plows. Oh, that pang. That aching, that sweet wanting. 

She slipped her number into the pocket of Ava’s army jacket as she was leaving. She makes herself dinner and percolates with the anticipation of hearing from her. The dogs seem confused by Ava’s absence.

The text comes in around midnight: 

_ Beatrice – I’m flying out tomorrow morning. I’ll have some leave in the spring, so I can definitely come back for a few weeks then. It’ll be hard to wait, but you taught me patience, so I guess I’ll be ok. I miss you already. It’s like an ache that starts somewhere down deep and just swallows my whole heart. But it’s good pain, I think. The way I feel with you is so different, I don’t think I can just give it up. Like your boy Rousseau says, these feelings came faster than lightning and filled my soul. I’ll write as much as I can. Text me please. A lot. Call me. Whatever. Give me as much amazing you as you can stand to give me. I’ll be back soon. Xoxoxo _

Beatrice tosses another log on the fire. She has a stack of philosophy books, and a flaming hearth, and a woman who fills her with desperate want, a woman who burns for her, who means to send her letters from her travels and has left her scent all over this tiny cabin. What more could she want? 

Ah, want. That word. That wonderful, soul-stirring word.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
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> 
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